


Victoria Returns

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Episode Related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-08-31
Updated: 1999-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Victoria Returns

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

I couldn't sleep the other night and so this just sort of evolved in my head, around twelve thirty I decided that sleep was useless and got up to write. I was done by one forty five. Even in my quasi-awake state I didn't think they were mine, I know they belong to Alliance. And as a result I don't anticipate making any money off of this. If you feel like sending me money . . . lets just say I won't tell if you don't. My e-mail address, for all you money senders, is. Oh, and this is immediately preceding Flashback but I think the only spoiler is (obviously) Victoria's Secrete.

_Victoria Returns_

After the amnesia his memory came back in chunks. It was odd. He knew that he worked at the consulate, but it wasn't until he was actually there, sitting at his desk that he would remember exactly what he did. He knew that he spent time with Ray's family, but it wasn't until he actually went over for dinner that he remembered all the things that had happened in that house. He knew that he and the Inspector were close, of course he knew that when he had had amnesia, But he didn't remember how close until he smelled her. Then it would all come back, all in a chunk. He would feel all the emotions, think all the thoughts at once. It was confusing, and disorienting. But everyone around him seemed to understand. He didn't anticipate it becoming a problem, but then again he didn't know what he didn't remember.

Ray Vecchio pulled up in front of the Canadian Consulate and ran up to the guard on duty. "Hay," he yelled to the motionless Mountie. "Guess what?" He paused, did a double take and finally said, in a somewhat shocked voice. "You're not Fraser!"

The Mountie didn't confirm or deny his claim.

"I could'a sworn . . ." Ray mumbled to himself as he bounded up the consulate's stair case that led to the offices. Ray had anticipated finding his buddy on duty, he was always on duty on Wednesdays, from ten till noon. Always. It was a Wednesday, but there was some Yutz in a hat out there instead of Fraser. Ray was confused, but not concerned. Maybe the Dragon Lady had taken mercy on the poor guy, considering he had received a massive blow to the head not long ago. Maybe she had actually given him a brake. On the other hand, maybe she just decided that he was more useful picking up her dry-cleaning than standing on guard duty. With her you never knew.

"Fraser in there?" Ray asked Turnbull more as a formality as he went to open the door.

"No." Turnbull replied, only after Ray had tried the door and found it locked.

"So is he out?"

"I shouldn't think so."

"But he's not in."

"In where?"

"In here."

"No."

"Then where is he?"

"Sick."

"Sick?"

"Yes, Detective." The sharp voice of Margaret Thatcher cut through the room. "Constable Fraser called in sick this morning."

"And you don't find that just a little odd?" Ray asked.

"Considering he just suffered a sever concussion resulting in memory loss and has of yet been unable to rest, no."

"But, he's Fraser." Ray argued. "He doesn't get sick."

"Nor would he lie about it." Meg pointed out, feeling she had an extremely good point.

Ray blanched. "Why not?" He muttered. "He has before."

"What?" The inspector demanded. Ray didn't answer he just turned heal and bolted down the stairs, two at a time. "Detective!" Thatcher called after him. "What are you talking about!" He didn't even look back.

"Perhaps the Detective was confused." Turnbull offered. "I'm sure that Constable Fraser would never miss use something as important as a sick day. That would be a clear breach of an ethical code."

"Oh, please Turnbull." Meg groaned. She had entirely forgotten why she left her office in the first place, she looked around, blankly, as if the walls would remind her. They didn't. Ray had planted a seed of suspicion and she had to find out what he was talking about. "Do you think you could find out what other sick days Constable Fraser took off."

"You mean before today?"

"Yes, before today."

"I can certainly try sir." Turnbull said, as if it was a great task, like the search for the holy grail. 

"Do that." Meg said, as she walked back into her office. What ever business had drawn her out was left undone.

Ray pounded on Fraser's door twice as violently as he needed too. After only one knock the door was opened and Fraser was standing, fit as a fiddle, in front of him.

"Ray," Fraser said, not quite smiling. "What are you doing here?"

"Are you sick?" Ray demanded.

"No, not really."

"Then why the hell aren't you at work?"

"I just . . ." The Mountie didn't have a reason.

"She's not here, is she?"

Benny didn't have to ask who she was. "No." He said sadly.

"I have the information you requested sir." Turnbull said, standing in front of her desk like the idiot he was. He looked so proud, like a dog who just performed a trick and expected a doggie treat. 

"Let's hear it."

"I looked back through his entire career in the RCMP as well as his day's at the academy."

"And?"

"It would seem that he has been injured several time's but always took less time to recover than was allowed him."

"That wasn't what I asked for, Constable." Meg was getting fed up.

"Ah, As far as sick days go, he has taken very few. It would seem that the Constable has remarkable health."

"How many has he taken?" Meg demanded.

"Two, Well, one and a half. That was before today, With today's illness the total comes to two an a half."

"Thank you constable I can add." Meg said, tersely. "Now when did these Illnesses occur."

"They occurred successively on April fourteenth and fifteenth, of last year. He called in sick on the fourteenth, which was a Thursday, if you'll remember. And then on the fifteenth, a Friday, he went home after only a half a day of work. Apparently feeling ill again."

Those date sprung something in Meg's mind. Something that explained Detective Vecchio's behavior. "Wasn't Fraser shot in the early morning of the eighteenth?" 

"Yes sir." 

"It's all coming back in clumps." Fraser tried to explain, Ray was in no mood to listen. "It's over whelming. All the emotion, all the memories, all at once."

"And so what, you were so sickened by her memory you couldn't show up at work this morning?"

"It happened last night. I was looking through some old photos and . . ."

"You have a picture of her?" Ray demanded, he knew that he had no right to be angry at his friend for keeping snap shots of a woman whom he had once loved. But Victoria was more than an old fling.

Fraser merely walked over to the kitchen table, picked up a black and white shot of a woman in the woods and handed to Ray. The detective wanted to tear the picture into a thousand pieces and then burn them. But instead he merely spit out. "What, don't they have color photos in the Yukon?"

Victoria Metcalfe. All told Meg knew nothing about her, or at least significantly less than what she wanted to know. When she had arrived at the consulate there had been a huge file on her desk explaining, or at least trying to explain, the whole mess in detail. She had been so busy trying to get the place running with some semblance of order after the nut Superintendent Moffet left that she hadn't taken time to actually read the account. She had merely skimmed it. And in her skimming she discovered that one of the men under her direct command, in fact the man that she was supposed to be working with closely, had been involved with a less than reputable woman who had lead him to disreputable behavior which had resulted him his getting shot under questionable circumstances. That was all she knew of Fraser at the time.

Needless to say, she wanted him off of her staff and out of her hair as soon as possible. She had tried to fire him, but she had no grounds, they both knew it. She tried to get him to transfer, but he liked Chicago for some odd reason. And the harder she tried to get rid of him the better she got to know him and the more she wanted him to stay. 

He was a conundrum to her. Every thing she expected him to do, he wouldn't do. And every time she though she understood him, he would surprise her. At first she thought it was on purpose. That he was one of those men who liked to play power games, who wanted to try and mess with her mind. But then she realized that he was just unexplainable, and that's one of the things she loved about him.

"I can't explain," Fraser said. "I can't communicate how much pain I felt, feel. All at once, all of a sudden. It was crushing."

"So you decided to take a day off of work, to wallow in self pity?" Ray accused.

"Why do you care so much?" Fraser asked, truly bewildered.

Ray took a deep breath, looked at the ground, shook his head and laughed softly. "You think you're the only one she hurt, Benny? You think you're the only one she stole from?"

"Well, no of course not Ray. She stole for the bank . . ."

Ray looked up sharply. There was a fire in his eyes, and intensity that Fraser had only seen once before in his friend's eyes. An intensity usually reserved for his neighborhood mob boss. Now that intensity was poured out on Fraser. "You're just totally clueless, aren't you. I mean, this is your life and you don't have any idea, you were so wrapped up in her that you couldn't see anything else. I mean even when things went bad, and you knew you had to bring her in, all you could see was her! You didn't even see the damage she did. That woman stole from me, Fraser, she stole you. She stole the one person in this world that I could depend on. And when you followed her on that train she stole my house. My father's house. The house I grew up in, my sisters grew up in. She tried to steel my career, she tried to steel Dief's life. She tried to steel everything she touched. And I know you loved her, and in some twisted way still do. But If you pouting over her being gone, I'm going to . . ." he took another deep breath, as if to control his raging temper. "This is not a thing you should mourn."

"I'm sorry Ray." Fraser said, and Ray could hear the earnest in his voice. "But I'm alone, and it hurts."

"God!" Ray exclaimed. It was an actual pee to the almighty, a prayer that sanity somehow be brought back to his friend. "IF you're alone, that's your fault. You've got every woman you meet crawling all over you, and you don't even notice it. Do you know how many men would give their right hand to be you for a day. I mean, disregarding the countless women who don't even know you and throw themselves at you, you've got Elaine pining after you, you've got my sister writing page after page in her diary about you. And then you've got Thatcher, and I don't even want to guess what's between you two, but if you're lonely you're the only one to blame."

Maybe some of Ray's anger rubbed of on Fraser, or maybe he was just emotionally raw. In any event, something in what Ray said lit a spark. "Why do you care Ray!" He said, with his own brand of intensity. "Really why do you care?"

"Cause you're my friend."

"Then shouldn't you respect me enough to let me be sad. To let me wish that I could have been happy."

"You can still be happy!"

"Why don't I have your permission to mourn mistakes of the past, bad decisions, wrong decisions, decisions that could never be right. I regret every second with Victoria, every memory, even the happy ones, especially the happy ones, hurt like a bullet wound."

"Don't blame me for that!"

"You shot the gun!"

"You stepped in the way!"

"You wanted to kill her? Really wanted to kill her." 

"Yes."

"How could you?" It was an accusation. Almost a charge of murder. Ray knew that, and the thing was Benny hadn't missed the target by that much. 

"What are you asking me?" Ray demanded.

"You're the detective, you figure it out." Fraser said, patronizingly. 

With that, Ray snapped. Those words, from his mouth. That woman had twisted and manipulated him when she was there, and now she wasn't there and she was still twisting and manipulating. Victoria was a thief and a murderer and a liar and just plain cruel, and Fraser didn't want to see it and Ray couldn't see anything else. There was so much tension and anger in the room that Ray did the one thing he thought he would never do. He punched his best friend.

Fraser just stood there. Overwhelmed by the sensation. He wasn't angry at Ray because he knew that he deserved it. He knew that of all the people in the world, Ray was the last person he wanted to hurt, but when Victoria had come, he had hurt Ray. For slipping like that he deserved more than a black eye. Ray was being merciful. He knew that he had gone way over the line, and that he had lost Victoria long ago, before she came back to Chicago, maybe even before she met him. 

Ray looked almost as shocked as Benny at the turn of events. His knuckles were red, but he didn't shake his hand or curse at the pain. Instead he just waited. Ray knew there was a lot left to be said, a lot. And he wasn't going to go until it was said, for good or for bad. He only wanted a friendship that was real and deep and that he couldn't lose.

"I'm sorry." Fraser said softly, after a long stretch of silence. "About everything."

"Yha," Ray said, "Me too."

The apologies were so simple, so heart felt, so needed that they engendered true forgiveness, for more than just a little argument. For the first time, Fraser was really able to put Victoria where she belonged, in the past. There were no hard feelings, none at all, and they both knew it, because, they were friend's.

"You going into work?" Ray asked, getting his coat.

"Not today."

"I finish up around eight. Want to go get some Coffee or something?"

"Yha, sounds good."

"So, see you then?"

"See you then."

**The End**

******Epilog-**

Ray bounded down the stairs two at a time. He felt so light, all that anger he hadn't wanted to admit he had was taken away. When he had shot Fraser on the train platform he had sworn he wasn't going to be mad about the whole thing. He wasn't going to let his anger show. But not being angry and forgiving are two entirely different things. Now, over a year later, he had finally been able to forgive, and be forgiven. Up to this point both of them had pretended, or tried to pretend that nothing had ever happened. No apologies, no I'm sorrys. But now, all that avoidance was done and over with, there was no tripping stone in their way. It was euphoric. 

Ray was so excited that he literally ran into Inspector Thatcher as he came bounding down the stairs.

"Watch were you're going detective!" She said harshly.

"Oh, ah, hey there, Me . . . Adam." He blurted out.

She looked him over, wearily. "What happened up there?"

"Up there?" Ray turned and looked over his shoulder towards Benny's floor. "Ah, we, ah, talked, and, ah, he's . . . he's feeling a lot better. He should be back at work tomorrow."

"Good," she said crisply. "Now if you'll excuse me . . ." She pushed herself past him and went up three steps before Ray grabbed her arm. She swung around almost violently and glared at his hand. He quickly removed it. 

"You see," he tried to explain, "He's not really up to visitors right now."

"He saw you." She pointed out.

"Yha, well, that's kinda why he's not up to visitors."

Meg stepped down one step, so they were at eye level. "What did you do?" she demanded.

"Me?" Ray tried to look innocent, but he didn't pull it off. "Nothing, really nothing."

"Nothing?" She didn't believe him one bit.

"Well, I punched him." Ray mumbled, "But only after severely provoked."

"You punched him?" She all but screamed. She looked like she was going to say more, expound on how stupid he was and what a dumb thing he had done, but she couldn't find the words. In the end she just sighed as if to say 'Men!' and turned around, still headed towards Fraser's apartment. 

Ray thought about trying to stop her, trying to hold her back, let Fraser rest. But then realized that there wasn't a thing in the world that could hold that woman back if she set her mind to something, and that quite probably she would be the only person in the world who could get him to forget totally about Victoria. 

When Ray left Fraser found himself in his apartment, alone. He was relived that Ray had finally said his peace, and he was relived that all the mistakes he had made regarding Victoria had been finally forgiven. He, like Ray, could feel the weight taken off of their friendship. A new freedom and a stronger bond had simultaneously developed. But still, he missed Victoria, and everything she symbolized.

"Are you hungry?" He asked Died, who whimpered softly in response.

"Me too," Fraser mumbled, "But nevertheless . . ." He walked over to the refrigerator too see nothing more than maple syrup and milk. Neither of those were particularly appetizing at the time. "Maybe we should go out."

There was a sharp rap on the door. Fraser looked up startled, Deif started barking at the door.

"Oh, please." Benny scoffed as he walked past the wolf and towards the door. Once there he swung it open and was shocked by who he found on the other side. "Inspector?"

"Fraser." She said crisply. "How are you feeling?"

"Much improved." He said honestly.

She nodded, "I'm sorry to bother you wile you're sick . . ."

"You're not bothering me."

Meg ignored his interjection, "But, these papers need to be signed today." She pulled a manilla folder out from under her coat. "What happened to your eye?" She asked in the same breath.

The question caught him off guard, "No . . . nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Well, yes, something, naturally something, because it is well, ah . . ." He looked around for help, finding none he decided to change the subject. "Why don't you come in, sir." Meg hated his neighborhood and his apartment building, she didn't have to be asked twice. "I could put some tea on the boil . . ."

"Thank you," she clipped, "But I really should get back to the consulate."

"Of course," he sounded very disappointed. 

Meg stared at his sad continence for as second, and then took a deep breath and walked over to his dining room table. She sat down, knowing full well that Fraser was following her, and spread the forms out in front of her. He did follow her. He sat down, wordlessly and started signing and dating when appropriate. She watched him carefully, the quick movements of his hand while he singed, the rapped movement of his clear blue eyes as he read over just what it was he was singing. So cautious, so reserved, so professional. 

When he looked up, and caught her staring at him, he almost had a smile on his lips. "Will there be anything else sir?"

Meg cleared her throat, and collected the papers. She shuffled through them to ensure that every I had been dotted and T crossed. When satisfied she put the papers in the folder and looked him in they eye. "Yes, what are you hiding from me?" She said, forcefully.

The question took him aback. "Excuse me sir?"

"What are you hiding from me?" She said again, "You've lied to me twice today Constable, first claiming to be sick, and then calling the black eye detective Vecchio gave you nothing. Now I understand the need for privacy, but I can't except dishonesty in the officers working under me, and," she paused for a second, "I came to expect more from you."

He looked at her inquisitively, as if she were a piece of artwork in a gallery, or and animal at the zoo. Something he couldn't quite work out in his mind. Finally he licked his lips and leaned forward. "Can I tell you a story?"

"Will this be a long story?"

"Not terribly."

Meg glanced at her watch. The papers she needed to be faxed to Ottawa by three, but beyond that there was very little to do at the consulate. Besides, she deeply desired an answer to her question. "Does this story involve Victoria Metcalfe?" She asked bluntly.

He was surprised by the question, but it didn't throw him off kilter. "Not directly."

Meg sighed, she wasn't sure if that was a relief or not, "You've got twenty minutes."

"In India there is a story about the creation of man and woman: When he had finished creating man the creator realized that he had used up all the concrete elements. There was nothing solid, nothing compact, nothing hard, left over with which to create the woman. After thinking for a long time the creator took: the roundness of the moon, the flexibility of the clinging vine, and the trembling of the grass, the slenderness of the reed and the blossoming of the flowers, the lightness of the leaves and the serenity of the rays of sunshine, the tears of the clouds and the instability of the wind, the fearfulness of the rabbit and the vanity of the peacock, the softness of a birds breast and the hardness of a diamond, the sweetness of honey and the cruelty of a tiger, the burning of fire and the coldness of snow, the talkativeness of a magpie and the singing of a nightingale, the falseness of a crane and the faithfulness of a mother lion. Mixing all these non-solid elements together the creator created woman and gave her to the man.

"After one week the man came back and said: 'Lord the creature you have given me makes my life unhappy. She talks without ceasing and torments me intolerably, so that I have no rest. She insists that I pay attention to her at all time so my hours are wasted. She cries about every little thing and leads an idle life. I have to give her back to you because I can't live with her!'

"The Creator said, 'Alright,' and took her back.

"After another week passed, the man came back to the creator and said: 'Lord, my life is so empty since I gave that creature back to you. I always think of her-- how she danced and sang, how she looked at me out of the corner of her eye, how she chatted with me and then snuggled close to me. She was so beautiful to look at and so soft to touch. I liked so much to hear her laugh. Please give her back to me.

"And the creator said, 'alright' and he gave her back.

"But three days later the man came back again and said: 'Lord, I don't know - I just can't explain it, but after all my experience with this creature, I've come to the conclusion that she causes more trouble than pleasure. I pray thee, take her back! I can't live with her.'

"'But you can't live without her,' the creator replied. Then he turned his back on the man and returned to work." (1)

When Fraser finished he just sat there, with a sad smile on his face. He didn't try to explain the story, because he didn't need to he could see in the Inspectors eyes that she understood enough. 

For her part, Meg was enchanted by the story. She had heard thousand of creation stories in her life, everything from the earth really being a tortoise shell to evolution, but none of them sounded a true as this one did. Naturally she didn't believe that it was a factual account of the beginning of the world. But she could see herself in the description of the woman, and she could see every man she had ever met in the actions of the man. It was beautiful. 

However, it might have been able to explain some of Fraser's actions concerning Victoria Metcalfe, it didn't help her see where he was at now. She was about to ask just that when she realized that it wasn't any of her business. She cleared her thought and pushed her hair away form her face. "I should be going now."

"You don't have to." He said softly. "You could stay,"

She hadn't expected him to be there. "Stay?"

"It's practically lunch time. Died and I were . . ." He suddenly remembered the contents of his refrigerator, "We could order out, or we could go out."

"Go out, for lunch?"

"Yes,"

Meg opened her mouth, closed it again, and then finally found the words she was looking for. "Are you asking me out to lunch, Constable?"

"Am I?" he fumbled, "Am I . . . yes, yes I am." He took a deep breath. "Inspector Thatcher, would you please escort me to lunch?"

She could feel a conservative smile creep it's way up onto her lips. She knew that under a very direct interpretation of the laws and the protocol regarding romantic relationships within the RCMP that this lunch date would be frowned upon. But the men who made those laws and set those protocols where presently in an entirely different country. Meg thought she could let it slip, just this once. "Yes, Constable, I would love to."

The (real) end

1\. Curse you Mr. Streff, for instilling in me the need to have academic honesty in a fan-fic!!! but any who, this is quite probably an eastern-Indian folk legend, but I found it in: Love Is a Feeling to Be Learned, by Walter Trobisch, published by Intervarcity Press, Downers grove IL, Copywrited 1971. Currently out of print as far as I can tell. 


End file.
